'Gideon' in 'Gideon's Army', refers to the famed 1963 Supreme Court decision, Gideon v. Wainwright, where all criminal defendants, however indigent, were granted the right to a criminal defense. 'Gideon's Army' focuses specifically on three public defenders in the states of Mississippi and Georgia and three specific cases assigned to them.
In addition to these three cases, we also learn how the system is stacked against both the defendants and the public defenders who serve them. In all cases, it's basically a question of money. The state of Georgia is a particularly heinous example, when you can end up on $40,000 bail for shoplifting. June Hardwick, the Mississippi public defender highlighted (who subsequently left the profession) chronicles the case of a skilled mechanic who could have been placed in a pre-trial diversion program but ended up languishing in jail because she couldn't afford the $3,000 bail fee. Subsequently, this defendant lost all her tools and her home, while she had to remain in jail.
In addition to the defendants' woes, the public defenders themselves face mounting debts from student loans. Their salaries are extremely low and their caseloads are astronomical. One feels a great deal of sympathy for these beleaguered public servants (all who are black) and seem forgotten by a system that depends on their hard work.
The public defenders also are up against inflexible sentencing requirements which force them to invariably seek plea bargains, much to the detriment of their clients' rehabilitation. One of the Georgia public defenders, Travis Williams, defends a young man who was at the scene of a crime, where a knife was pulled by an acquaintance. He was facing 10 years minimum incarceration and a maximum sentence of life in prison and fortunately was able to plead down to Robbery by Intimidation. Williams wanted the Judge to give his client two years in the 'work house' but is given the maximum of 5 years incarceration plus probation by the hard-nosed judge.
The other main public defender, Brandy Alexander, defends the rare case where she's able to get her client off. Charged with an armed robbery of a grocery store, the defendant is identified by a store clerk who claims he's seen him hanging around the store many times. But Alexander cogently points out that the clerk never gave a description to the police noting the defendant's multiple tattoos and braces on his teeth. The jury refused to accept the prosecutor's argument that this was an air-tight case.
Also highlighted in the documentary is the Southern Public Defender Training Center, sort of a self-help group for public defenders. Indeed, the head of the organization, Jonathan Rapping, is perhaps the defenders' most vocal supporter. Rapping describes the system as "unjust, cruel" and "inhumane." While his support of public defenders is admirable, his support of the defendants as 'victims' of the system is skewed decidedly to the left. In contrast, some of Alexander's other tales are more sobering. She had one inmate charged with murder who she spent a lot of time with trying to help—only to find out later that the defendant told another inmate that he would kill her if he lost at trial. Another defendant bragged to her that he raped his 12 year old daughter.
'Gideon's Army' ably highlights a criminal justice system that often is inflexible when it comes to sentencing of criminal defendants. It also makes a case for higher pay for these public defenders, who are burdened by incredibly large caseloads and student loans that will take them years to pay off. On the other hand, creator/director Dawn Porter may be a tad bit too sympathetic in her view of defendants as victims. The reality is that most of the plea bargains that defendants agree to, are justified, because they're guilty. Alexander's young man, who she got off, is the exception to the rule.
Porter hits the mark when she argues for more flexibility when it comes to more leeway in regards to the laws and sentencing guidelines for defendants. Unfortunately, in certain states, such as in Georgia, you are going to find judges who can't understand that long prison sentences will only lead to chronic recidivism and little chance that the defendant will have any chance of turning his or her life around.
In addition to these three cases, we also learn how the system is stacked against both the defendants and the public defenders who serve them. In all cases, it's basically a question of money. The state of Georgia is a particularly heinous example, when you can end up on $40,000 bail for shoplifting. June Hardwick, the Mississippi public defender highlighted (who subsequently left the profession) chronicles the case of a skilled mechanic who could have been placed in a pre-trial diversion program but ended up languishing in jail because she couldn't afford the $3,000 bail fee. Subsequently, this defendant lost all her tools and her home, while she had to remain in jail.
In addition to the defendants' woes, the public defenders themselves face mounting debts from student loans. Their salaries are extremely low and their caseloads are astronomical. One feels a great deal of sympathy for these beleaguered public servants (all who are black) and seem forgotten by a system that depends on their hard work.
The public defenders also are up against inflexible sentencing requirements which force them to invariably seek plea bargains, much to the detriment of their clients' rehabilitation. One of the Georgia public defenders, Travis Williams, defends a young man who was at the scene of a crime, where a knife was pulled by an acquaintance. He was facing 10 years minimum incarceration and a maximum sentence of life in prison and fortunately was able to plead down to Robbery by Intimidation. Williams wanted the Judge to give his client two years in the 'work house' but is given the maximum of 5 years incarceration plus probation by the hard-nosed judge.
The other main public defender, Brandy Alexander, defends the rare case where she's able to get her client off. Charged with an armed robbery of a grocery store, the defendant is identified by a store clerk who claims he's seen him hanging around the store many times. But Alexander cogently points out that the clerk never gave a description to the police noting the defendant's multiple tattoos and braces on his teeth. The jury refused to accept the prosecutor's argument that this was an air-tight case.
Also highlighted in the documentary is the Southern Public Defender Training Center, sort of a self-help group for public defenders. Indeed, the head of the organization, Jonathan Rapping, is perhaps the defenders' most vocal supporter. Rapping describes the system as "unjust, cruel" and "inhumane." While his support of public defenders is admirable, his support of the defendants as 'victims' of the system is skewed decidedly to the left. In contrast, some of Alexander's other tales are more sobering. She had one inmate charged with murder who she spent a lot of time with trying to help—only to find out later that the defendant told another inmate that he would kill her if he lost at trial. Another defendant bragged to her that he raped his 12 year old daughter.
'Gideon's Army' ably highlights a criminal justice system that often is inflexible when it comes to sentencing of criminal defendants. It also makes a case for higher pay for these public defenders, who are burdened by incredibly large caseloads and student loans that will take them years to pay off. On the other hand, creator/director Dawn Porter may be a tad bit too sympathetic in her view of defendants as victims. The reality is that most of the plea bargains that defendants agree to, are justified, because they're guilty. Alexander's young man, who she got off, is the exception to the rule.
Porter hits the mark when she argues for more flexibility when it comes to more leeway in regards to the laws and sentencing guidelines for defendants. Unfortunately, in certain states, such as in Georgia, you are going to find judges who can't understand that long prison sentences will only lead to chronic recidivism and little chance that the defendant will have any chance of turning his or her life around.